My Life in Paris: Making Friends in Bathrooms

When she was new to Paris, Theadora headed to the bathroom to make new pals.

“Let me tell you a true story,” Edith says. I’m sitting on the edge of her tub with a notebook on my knees and she’s standing by the sink, waving her cigarette about as she conjures up the scene.

“This was in 1879, and down in Pigalle, Le Rat Mort café was jumping. A well-dressed man walked in and ordered a drink, and asked to stash his bag behind the bar counter. The bartender agreed. After a few drinks the man left, forgetting his bag. That evening went on as usual, until a strange smell began hitting the ceiling fan. Soon mutters from the other customers became complaints, loud and clear.

“A diligent search got under way. Following their noses, the hunters came upon the respectable person’s black bag. All at once a horrible suspicion seized every mind. No doubt, they thought, the bag contained human remains in an advanced stage of decomposition. After all, this was Pigalle, a rough place back then. One and all refused to touch it. ‘Call the police!” someone said.

“Holding their noses on arrival, les flics gathered round the pièce d’accusation. The fastenings were quickly undone, and the eager hands of the Commissary exposed to view not a severed head, but a somewhat ripened Livarot, one of the ancient cheeses of Normandy!”

At first I laughed, until she said, “I saved you some, from my last trip back home. Come try it.” As she unwrapped the barnyard-stinky substance, I felt more like crying.

Salle de bain project

Unlike Emily Cooper, when I first moved to Paris I didn’t exactly hit the ground running. It took months. I craved connection. I thought, maybe I could do interviews and say I was working on a book about French beauty strategies. Édith would be my first interview.

Despite the cheese, it went well, and she introduced me to several of her friends, who in turn did the same. Soon, I was not only meeting women born and raised in France, but from all over the world who now considered France home. Their occupations ran the gamut from accountant to global environmental engineer to hospital clown to violinist in a gypsy band. For a full year, I gathered their stories. All interviews took place in their salles de bain. They plied me with pâtisserie goods, teas, or glasses of wine, along with treats brought back from their holidays. I sampled pistachios from Istanbul, sun-dried tomatoes from Tuscany, and yes, even the stinky Livarot. As we feasted on whatever they offered, I always began with my only prepared question: “So, tell me about your soap.”

Tales from the tub

Starting from their bar of soap, I soon learned about their relationships, growing up versus growing older, lost loves (and found), career changes, and battles with the mirror. Rarely were their bathroom mirrors smudge-free.

“But then I would be able to see myself!” explained one woman, giggling while pretending to wipe it clean. Unlike the pristine perfection of spaces featured in interior design magazines, few of these typically tiny rooms were free of clutter. But even empty containers on shelves or windowsills held faint scents that triggered memories, serving not only as souvenirs, but as symbols of security or landmarks from the past. Invoking all senses, we’d delve deep and travel far without ever leaving their salles de bain.

Opening a small, near-empty bottle of perfume, one friend told of how Berlin had changed her life when she’d spent some time there in her 20s. A special person had given her the bottle while they were both living there. “It will always take me back to Berlin,” she said, blushing and laughing. Then, reaching for her current favourite scent, she said: “Less dangerous, this one.”

I learned about self-care, pampering and their trust in the local pharmacist. Is there a beauty glitch or hiccup that can’t be fixed at there? They didn’t think so. Looking back, there was one clear through-line: laughter. “Laughter is like glue,” Edith would say. “We’ll always bond over humour… and stinky cheese.”

Theadora Brack has lived in Paris since 2003 and is the author of the peopleplacesandbling.com blog.

From France Today Magazine